


Things That Techically Go Bump in the Night

by Forgotten_Logic



Series: Trouble With Gladiators [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aches and pains, Amica endura, Angst, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Bro cuddles, Candy, Conjunx Endura, F/M, Femmes with spikes, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mech Preg, Mechpreg, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Night really needs to find a better coping mechanism: the author Night needs some help too lololz, Other, Self-Indulgent, Sparring, The Author is throwing in their headcanons--youre welcome, cybertronian candy, implied femmes with spikes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:53:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgotten_Logic/pseuds/Forgotten_Logic
Summary: Misundersrsndings happen in new relationships, but some old wounds are easily opened.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raspberry_Omega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raspberry_Omega/gifts).



> Yess..... I should be working on other things
> 
> Yessssss... I should be worrying about school
> 
> And yess... I love my babes, shamelessly.
> 
> No beta and also, this should be enough but this piece is based on an rp that Raspberry_Omega and I have done, and with that means that femmes with spikes yo.

He squeezed his flame colored aft into his seat in front of his desk within his hab. It was a tighter squeeze than he remembered it to be but he waved it off as he reached for a pad. It was not related to him being co-captain but rather contained time-killing games. 

In a drawer, he opened it and shuffled things out of the way until his yellow servo came up with what he searched for. Rodimus had hidden a container of jelly candies away from Nightblade. She would probably scold him if she knew about them, so he hid them. Carrying mecha we not supposed to have a aft-ton of sugar, it wasn't good for their mood or their waistline, or the development process. 

He subconsciously stroked over his swell. The bitlit definitely takes after their sire, strictly based on the size of his frame and how it tried to accommodate the growth. 

Rodimus had been terrified at the news of him kindling, angry that he didn't check that his shunt was in place. It didn't help matters that forge had started to expand so early into the process, making it terribly obvious that he was sparked. The only reason that anyone knew that he was carrying was due to Nightblade coming to check on him. She bonded too closely with some and upon finding out the truth of the matter, she was embarrassed and ashamed that she hadn’t had the thought to have asked if he had a shunt in. The saving grace for the whole situation was that she didn’t leave, not hesitate at the proposition of being a sire, or whatever else was to come. Now he was here and she was here and he won’t be alone through this, that was more than he could say for some previous relationships. 

[The Author digresses, she’s tired of making up the fanon because she doesn’t know the canon.]

Rodimus had adjusted to the changes, he knew that Nightblade had to as well. After all, if she hadn’t he might have ordered her to the brig, but most everything went along smoothly. And now, she sort of acted as co-co captain, even if Ultra Magnus did not care to see Rodimus push his work onto another mech but that wasn’t the first time and it would scarcely be the last. 

And where was the red mech? Comfortablely leaning into his desks chair with a gaming pad in his hold in one servo and another in the box of candy. After a couple rounds of one game he’d get bored and would do a new one, while sticking his servo into the box each time. It became a vicious cycle, and by the time he had changed games maybe a dozen times he felt the bottom of the container. He looked up from the pad after feebly fumbling to find even just one more. Rodimus gave up and just grabbed it off the edge of the desk and sighed when he saw nothing but crumbs of the coated candies. Frustrated, he dropped the box to his side.

He wasn’t the one one frustrated, his tank rumbled in disdain for all the sugar it was trying to digest. But there was a lot of treats inside and it left him feeling slightly bloated. Rodimus placed the pad on the desk and just held his belly, feeling it rumble, feeling the slightest change in heat. It wasn’t quite painful but left much to be desired. 

“Night,” he called, feverently try to ease the rumble. There was no answer. Again Rodimus yelled and again was greeted by silence, but then he remembered something: Nightblade was on shift. He cursed as he tried to shift in the seat, opening a comm. to her. It only did a buzz of busy static before she answered, “Yes?”

“I need you here.” There was a harsh rumble, making him grit his dentea. “Now.”

“What's wrong?” There was a harsh clash in the background. “Never mind it. I'll be there in two minutes.”

“Please hurry.” It may have been slightly dramatic but it was starting to feel less irritating and was going more toward ouch. He cut the comm. before Nightblade could get another word in but since she was already headed there, it's not like she wouldn't see him.

But those two minutes seemed to feel like hours, dragging on with little hope of it ending. That was until the door slid open and in came his berthmate with the smell of coolant and dried Energon. It was barely four steps before she was upon the red and round speedster. “What's wrong?” she asked while stepping around the old flame-like seat. 

Rodimus was still rubbing at his sore belly, not yet responding, at least Nightblade was not entirely obvious, catching an optic to the empty box on the floor. “Rodders, did you eat all of that,” she paused, getting better look at the poorly discarded container, “I’m guessing candy?”

Rodimus moved his lips to his silent moan, again uncomfortable but with an equally discomforting cramp in his tanks. After a moment, he paused his servos movement across his belly. “Don’t chastise me,” he whined.

The glint in her optics, how they darkened, sent a shiver down the yellow and gold back struts. It didn’t help that she could carry the stoic face of Magnus with unnatural ease. “Please?” he added a bit hastily, pushing up against the arms of his seat, pressing his back against it. 

But those periwinkle shifted minutely and she knelt down, twisting the seat to face her. “I’m not really in the position to admonish my captain, am I?” The slight upturn of her lips and the scrunching corners of her optics spoke volumes. “But if I were, then, perhaps some actual fuel to offset all the junk.” Nightblade gently tapped his nose. 

“Now you’re just teasing me.”

“It is fun to do so, yes.” The old femme smirked, moving blunt silver servos over the smooth metal mesh. The motion was supposed to be both something to help ease the present ache and as minor apology. Soft and warm but with each stroke of the swell, Nightblade could feel the gurgle and reafixed her transposed optics upon his. “Is this one giving you trouble?”

“Not yet. They’re just… growing. Really fast,” he groused. “Am I really supposed to, ya know, get bigger?” His own servos met hers whilst they did their own pattern. “I’m not sure I can handle that.”

“Well,” she started quietly and made an attempt at keeping her mild embarrassment out of her field. Nightblade’s coding had been modified and changed so much over her life that it practically all readout as large rig software. Which should’ve been taken into account when she and her captain had quickly began courting. “If it's any consolation, you're still going to be the most gorgeous speedster on this ship.”

“Even when I'm waddling down the halls?” 

“Of course,” she laughed a little, really to ease her own spark. “Nothing could change how I feel, Rodders."

Rodimus’ own field flared with a sense of self-assurance, that what Nightblade had said was indeed the honest truth. But there had been others who said that their love for them was true then wham! everything goes back to square one, with him being alone. 

Nightblade leaned up with one pede pushing her up and smooched his forehelm. “Lemme get us some fuel. It should help you feel better.” Slowly she rose back to her stand, watching with a whimsical view of bright, beautiful, and young optics, how they adjust to keep contact with hers in the light. 

“Alright.”

He didn’t try to move after her when she left for the kitchenette, not immediately. The tumble in his tanks seemed to come back as soon as Nightblade was no longer in sight. Just the thought made him growl that his own body was being this way - practically betraying him. Rodimus just held his tum, hoping that the slight pressure would cause some relief but only made a realization all the more clear. He already looked gravid, more than what he was sure was usual for how the succession of his carry had undergone. 

Rodimus wiggled out of the seat and walked with a slight sway to his hips. “Night.” He hadn’t even made to the kitchenette before calling for her again. “If you’re put that nasty slag in mine, at least make it sweet afterwards.” He rounded a corner and almost ran into her. 

Nightblade had the corners of her lips upturn slightly. “The correct way to say that is _afterward_ ,” she said, handing him a now magenta cube. “But trust me, I know you won’t drink it if it isn’t sweet enough.”

“Why do you have to be like Mags and correct my grammar?”

“It’s ill-fitting of a captain that doesn’t speak properly. I’m not captain and we are in private; I would not go so far as to correct you while on bridge.” She slid an arm around to rest on the small of his back, urging him forward. “But if it makes you feel better, I still correct Megatron.”

Rodimus climbed onto the stool with less ease than he was use to. “Still?”

Nightblade shrugged, taking her spot on the other stool that was flaming red. “For a mech who’s had so little formal, or even basic education, he has an exquisite way with the written word.” Her smile was fond, a slight change to the color of her optics, in deep thought. “I saw the early stages of the Decepticon manifesto. Quite an inspiring piece, something that even Orion could have called cause for. You know, they almost did—work together and reconstruct our society as it should have been.”

Rodimus sat there silently, sipping at slightly over-sweet Energon. At least it was down-able, but it had already helped his tanks settle. “Wasn’t it called _Towards Peace_? I heard Rung say something about it once,” he asked with a helm tilt, much like a youngling whom wondered what else was going to happen within a berth-time story. 

“Yes, that is the one. Some of the ideals resemble those of the later produced Autobot Code, although, of course, it does have strong differences.” She paused. “I’m glad you’re at least giving him a chance. It’s a kindness for both him and Orion.”

“Why would you say that about Orion Pax?”

Nightblade stopped, looked away from the carrier, to her cube, to her servo, taking deep consideration into which words should be used, and used carefully. It took a moment but she figured out what could be said. “They have a long and entangled history, one that no other mecha besides them perhaps, will understand. Orion is my Amica, but he made me promise only one thing, to no speak on his behalf. Next we see him, you may as what that history implies; it is not my place.”

Rodimus then scrunched up his optics while he swallowed, not so much at the sweetness but to the topic. “When was that a thing? When did both of you, ya know, bond?”

“It was before my first Conjunxual bond, before the war started.”

“So, you’ve already been Conjunxed before.” It was a statement of resignation, one that flowed through his field, followed by a shaky tremor to his servos, trying to hide his face behind a cube. How could he have assumed that she was never conjunxed? She had the strength, the willpower, the mode of anymech’s dreams; why?

She saw how his frame grew tense, felt how his field pulsed against hers. She shouldn’t have mentioned her former bond. Nightblade lifted her frame from the stool and stepped over, right in front of the rounded chassis, and reached for his free servo. “Yes, I was. But she’s been gone for so long that her essence in my spark is but a memory. I wasn’t sure when to say, I did not see a good time to say it. I meant no ill will. I don’t want to see you upset,” voice low and controlled, sort of. It cracked at the final sentence. 

Rodimus looked away, however not pulling his servo away from hers. The stroke of her thumb over the top of his knuckles left him quiet. “I guess I didn’t really think about you already having a mate.”

“Please, don’t dwell upon it. She is long gone from this realm.” Something about her statement left him more than a bit disconcerted. 

“What happened… to her?” Rodimus wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know, but the dark and disparaging gleam in Nightblade’s optics made him want to dig deeper. Something about it bothered her, that much he could deduce. 

She shouldn’t have said anything. It was a flaring reminder every time she thought that far back. Not answering immediately, instead looking off and away toward Rodimus’ other servo, like it was the most interesting thing that she could bring herself to ogle at. But with a heavy sigh, she kept her optics away. “She was… she—it doesn’t matter.” Nightblade let her servo drop, Rodimus feeling really cold all of a sudden. “I have to go.”

* * *

Nightblade’s sudden departure was as sudden as her arrival. His spark swirled hard in his casing, his tanks rolling with a new burning anxiety. Oh, this was it. She’s going to leave him. He said the wrong thing. _This always happens…_

His venting quickened at the sound of the HAB door closing, leaving him alone again.

* * *

“What did Rodimus need?” Megatron asked a stiff shouldered femme, optics glazed. She did not answer at first, her own field pulsing unceremoniously hard against his. 

“He needed fuel.”

“That cannot be all,” he said with mock disbelief.

“It’s not.”

“Then you should tell me.”

“Only after another round. I need to get my head straightened out,” she growled, mostly at herself. She was the one to leave him alone.

Megatron rose a brow, but took up the sword that he was wielding before she had been called away. “So be it.” Her own arms became her weapons, blindly getting into position.

Swift and more frustrated thrusts of her swords swung toward him, taking deliberate swings to get him off balance. It didn't work as well as planned, he blocked each blow, kicking her in the chassis.

She fell back into a handspring and was back on her pedes. Megatron lunged forward, sword coming around his side. The shriek of metal physically sent Nightblade scraping against the floor. 

“Night, stop this,” Megatron hissed when he was shoved back. “You're thinking too much to spar.”

“You, telling me to stop? These ‘bots really have done a number on you.”

“You're too stubborn to stop,” Megatron groused, stepping over and dropping her sword, rattling against the ground.

“You're one to talk,” she uttered. 

“Some of us must be diplomatic.” He stepped up to her slowly, seeing that he battle systems were still humming. “Tell me what is the matter?” 

She stood there, unmoving save for her vents and plating shifting out of place, allowing steam to seep out quicker. Nightblade was bothered but still did not want to talk about it anymore than Megatron wanted to talk about the atrocities that he alone caused during the war; but it needed to come out.

“You really want to know?” she asked, condensed air started to settle on her frame. Megatron nodded as he reached down for the sword he had thrown down. “No, I _need_ to know.”

“Rodimus asked what happen to my late Conjunx.” Her field and armor flared back, collapsing down again. “Should be enough said.”

“And it still bothers you.” 

“Of course it still does!” She hissed. “It still bothers me. At least you still have your mate.”

Megatron snorted, walking toward the weapons shelf and placed down his sword. “We are hardly Conjunx by now. I haven’t even seen him for an age. His spark is but a memory.”

Nightblade sighed. It was something that she could relate to, but it wasn’t necessary to say such things. Not right now. She had to go to her mate. “I must go.” She bowed her helm, something of an older age, but still something of respect amongst fighters, something that Megatron returned.

“Be easy with him.”

* * *

Something stopped her from entering, or slowed her, but her digits worked against her hesitation, jambing in the combo. The door slid open, quiet. “Roddy?” No answer. Nightblade stepped in, going over the entire room with her optics. The flame seat was left alone, the empty box of candies was still discarded on the floor, and no Rodimus. 

The trepidation that was building in her spark left her feeling queasy. “Roddy?” She called again but louder. No response again. _Maybe the kitchenette?_ Empty. An untouched blue cube and a half-consumed magenta one still rest upon the counter. 

She left for their berthroom. Maybe he was tired and went for some recharge, a reason why he did not respond to her callings. That’s what she was desperately hoping. But what was there was a whole lot of nothing. Berth was a mess, the sheets were strewn about and all the pillows were lined up in the center, but still no Rodimus. 

Nightblade wasn’t one to panic, but her spark beat against her casing uncomfortably, a stabbing, burning kind of feeling. Her vents flared open as she trotted from the room, again empty of the speedster. “Oh, I did this…”

* * *

Rodimus rocked back and forth with a pillow hiding his face. “I ruined it Drift! I ruined it.”

Drift sat behind him, trying to help the carrier relax, folding his field against his sporadic one, servos massaging his spoilers. Rodimus had come to him with tears in his optics, clutching at his arms. He’d been saying that ‘he ruined it with Night’, something that Drift doubted but nevertheless brought him inside so he could confide in his 3rd. 

“What makes you think that?”

Rodimus sniffled, rubbing his face with the back of his servo, still holding tight to the pillow. “I asked about her Conjunx and she left. She left! I don’t know what I did wrong,” whimpering.

Drift let Rodimus fall back onto his chest, heat pouring off of the carrier. Rodimus’ frame rattled against the white mech with his each shaken ventilation. “My belly hurts again,” he wheezed, only taking one servo from holding the pillow and rubbed.

“You being upset isn’t good—”

“Drift! Have you seen Rodimus? I nee—”  
Rodimus froze, it wasn’t fear, but something stopped him. 

“Roddy,” she whispered, seeing him being held by Drift. “I… looked for you in our HAB. When you were not there…” She looked away, a poor concealment of her shame, but she took a step forward despite it. “I'm sorry. I made you feel this way.” Only then did she face him. Rodimus face only half visible, his pillow covering up to his nose. “There's no excuse for what I did.”

Rodimus didn't move. “I didn't think you'd be upset about me asking…” There was no need to finish. All three of them knew why, for slightly different reasons. 

“And me not saying anything about it is my fault. It's my fault I said nothing.” Her plating rattled, with a weak ventilation. “I couldn't bring myself to. I could have saved you from this if it weren't for me,” she sounded weak, wounded, and she knew it. 

Rodimus slowly sat up with help from Drift, optics watery. “It isn't your fault. I asked.”

“But it was because I said nothing, told you so little of my past. You… you had no way of knowing,” whispering, “I should have never walked out. I'm sorry. I truly am.” She was on her knees, next to berth, servos gripping the covers. “I never wanted to hurt you, and by omitting my history, it was more to protect me than you, my very own selfishness has brought us here.”

“Night,” Rodimus was quiet, optics still slick with coolant. He hated the silence that followed so soon after his voice, it clouded and fogged his helm. A hum from inside his helm buzzed to the surface, vents rattling open again. “Stop. Please. I don't want to fight you, or argue. I just… want to go back to before.”

The flare of fear that pulsed through Nightblade’s optics made even Drift weary. “I just want to go to before this thing. I don't want to be the reason you're upset.”

“I'm not sure I fully understand.” Nightblade’s mouth hung open, hesitant for a reply.

“I don't mean, uh, I just want to pretend that this whole thing didn't happen. Just, a reset.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dabs into the void*

“I’m sorry I asked.”

“Darling, please, don’t worry about it.” They walked back to their HAB; Nightblade slid her arm around and rested her servo flat against his back. Rodimus felt warm against her digits. She slowed her pace to match his half-speed, easing their way forward. “Why not we just relax, not worry about anything. I’ll make or get whatever you wish.”

Aquamarine optics turned to her, Rodimus watched her with a hesitant ease. “You don’t have to.”

“Nonsense. Please, let me.” 

The walk was much shorter than Nightblade remembered, perhaps because before she was in a fit of panic—time losing all effects. Near black digits input their code, door sliding back with a slight wobble, something that wasn’t there before. When he glanced at Nightblade, he saw her shift a little while allowing him entry first. 

She stepped in behind him and stopped. Rodimus turned around when there was a sharp click, the door back on its track—it wasn’t exactly what it reminded him of at first. The guilty look in her optics as she met his, she supplied, “I may have lost my patience. I may have gotten… scared.” 

Rodimus’ face fell, optics widened. “You were scared?”

“To lose you, yes. Yes, of course.” Nightblade got up slowly from her kneel, she wasn’t exactly a young mecha anymore, and when it popped she winced but came up to him. Standing face to face, well, Rodimus’ face to her chest—her servo cupped his cheek.

Rodimus was taken aback, in good sort of way. He wasn’t sure anymech had ever really been scared to lose him. And with the gentle caress of his derma, he purred, pressing his own servo onto hers, feeling the subtle cold come off onto his face. Yet her rare smile was warm, with a soft glint in lit periwinkle optics, boring into his own it felt. Far more calming that he thought physically possible. “Such a pretty mech, beautiful optics. Still surprises me that you chose me.” Rodimus blushed and tried to pull away but Nightblade kissed his chevron, he succumbed to a giggle. Her thumb moved under his, smooth derma heating with the flush. 

“You’re too kind to me,” Rodimus’ voice was hushed, going to hide his face in her chassis. “Why you gotta make me blush?”

Nightblade trailed her servos down his back and side, grazing the bulb that the speedster adorned. “Why would I not? Blue is a very nice color on your cheeks.” She without warning to him, scooped him up, his knees against her chest and his aft resting on her arm. It made him squeal, blushing again. “You deserve all the kindness that anyone can give, don’t doubt that I will give as much as I can.”

Rodimus searched for a response, something that he could not rightly find. He hadn’t been told that he deserves kindness, only that he was a pretty mech. “It’d be nice to have a warning next time,” through his veil embarrassment at the lack of proper response he complained, getting a shaky support from his arms against her chassis. 

“Noted.” She shifted him in her arms, knees now resting beside warm windshields, an arm holding even his pedes. “Did you have any fuel at Drift’s?”

He just rested his helm on her shoulder, not really wanting to talk about it still, even though it was only klicks ago. The painfully fresh throb in his chassis was still there, its ache, or the unpleasant roll in his tanks; it all was still there and he didn’t want to think about how it was hurting him. Even if it were only minutes of that grief, he forced an answer out: “No.”

Nightblade had walked to the kitchenette, she had set him down—despite the quiet protests. His cube from earlier was still there, as was hers. Despite usually being picky, he downed the overly sweet thing. “My glass is broken.”

“It’s empty.”

“Same thing.”

She couldn’t help rolling her optics, taking the other cube off the counter and the now empty one. “I can make you something, or is plain medical grade really enough?”

“Well,” he dragged out the ‘ell’ part, starting to contemplate what he thought he wanted. Or perhaps what the growing spark wanted, because with the little fuel in his tanks that was truly viable, his frame was picking up on the fact that he was indeed hungry. “What can you make that’s quick?”

“Any number of things, it all depends on if you want sweet or spicy.”

Rodimus laid one servo on the counter and another on his swell. “Already have a lot of sweet stuff in here. Maybe something spicy?”

* * *

The aroma of cobalt and neon and krypton filled the HAB within klicks, arousing Rodimus’ hunger. It made his mouth salivate at how it delectable just the smell was. “Night,” he whined, drawing her name out, “I think I'm starving.”

Nightblade tried to hide her snigger, grabbing a bowl and ladle, scooping up a thick blue-yellow product into said bowl. When she turned around, he was posing dramatically posing with the back of one servo against his helm. “We can't have that.” She grabbed a spoon from a drawer and stepped over to the dividing counter, placing both down as steam wafted from the bowl. “Bon appétit.”

“What does that mean?” he asked, pulling the bowl closer. Blues and yellows mixed with the slight motion, cobalt being the most noticeable part of the… Rodimus didn't think about what was presented but only that it was fuel, not waiting for her to answer. He took the spoon from the counter and had a taste. 

She watched him with a building ease, watched how his servo moved from bowl to mouth and back again on repeat. “It’s something from Terra. French, I believe, however, I don’t recall what it means but it is within the context of a meal.” Rodimus hummed, optics closed, popping the spoon from his lips. “Good?”

“Where'd you learn to make this?” was his slurped response, “I haven't anything like this since leaving Cybertron.” He continued eating.

Nightblade let loose a low sigh with a slight smile on her derma. “I've made a lot of this when I lived in Kaon. It was cheap and quick and quite nutritious, kept me alive a while,” with a chuckle, turned to get a bowl of her own. While her back was turned she asked, “I take it's not too hot? You're… mostly quiet, save except for the slurping.” The ladle went into the thick stew, mostly looking green now, splashed the steaming liquid into her bowl. 

His bowl was at his lips when she turned back, making her chuckle. Placing hers down, she turned back again to just brought over the entire pot and ladle and set it in the middle of the counter. Rodimus stopped paying attention until the soft clank happened. The bowl slipped down so just his optics peered over the edge. 

“Such a pretty mech,” Nightblade whispered, walking around the counter, only her field touching his. It was subtle but there was a sort of ache for the touch that only she had provided, a touch that he had anticipated. Touch that was practically craved.

“I’m not just pretty,” Rodimus groused, hesitantly reaching for the ladle to fill his bowl again. Nightblade scooted over one stool to be closer him, not saying anything at first, taking her words into consideration first. 

“Not just, it just happens to be one of your good qualities.”

He scoffed but there was a flare in his field, something quick. “Name one good quality.”

“Dear, you’ve many good qualities. You care for your crew although some respond crassly. You have pride, a spirit to match your paint. You’ve done nothing but try and protect your crew and try to be the best co-captain possible. And exuding determination to—wait, are you crying?” Even with her soft tone, the slight tick to his field was something that even she could not quite read. The tension in her field grew as it did in her frame, but she reached over, a servo on his arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t think I would—”

“—You can’t mean all of that,” was Rodimus’ retort, wiping at his face with the back of his servo. When was the last time someone actually meant what they said about him, something that was positive, and not a rumor for the sole purpose of embarrassment laden insults? Her kind intended words left his chest tight and his helm recoil. _She couldn’t possibly be serious_. No one else was. 

Coding that had barely time to take hold urged her forward. The way his optics glazed, how coolant collected just under arctic blues, made a crimson spark hurdle against her old casing. Moving to face him, a servo resting on his arm and the other supporting his cheek, stroking the flaming armor with a thumb. “Rody.” He turned his helm away, hiding his mouth with Nightblade’s servo. “Rody, please,” she sounded small—something theoretically impossible for her stature—with optics blazing with an amethysts light. “I don’t know what I did to upset you but I assure you, everything I said was the truth.”

Rodimus didn’t move, holding in a ventilation. His frame trembled slightly, off and on, for mili-seconds. Coolant forming under his optics. There was a mumble against her palm, unintelligible. Amethyst optics widened slightly, prompting Rodimus to turn his helm with her servo. “Rodimus?” She whispered, adjusting her servo against his cheek armor. Golden spoilers fell, he lurched for her frame, servos grabbing at chassis.

Nightblade grabbed the counter as the stool swayed and wrapped her other arm around him. Flame painted frame rattled and in klicks settled against hers, his digits digging into her back and underplating. Heat rolling off of Rodimus’ chassis, condensed air falling onto her windshields. His venting quieted, frame rested against hers. 

Neither spoke a word for what felt like ages, an air that carried a different feeling, one that formed its own ease. Nightblade had let go of the counter and held Rodimus. He rested on her lap and held onto her like there was nothing else in the world that could save him but her, only her. His stained cheek rested against a smooth windshield.

He grumbled something against her chassis, making her hum, vibrating within her frame. She felt over warm armor, a servo grazing the bottom edge of a golden spoiler. “Night,” Rodimus said clearer, however static bursting forth. 

“I think I love you.” His field flared, enveloping Nightblade’s in a flash. Not painful but wholly put her to ease, spark pulsing against her casing, its warmth practically blooming through her chassis. Her grasp around him tightened, touching his yellow chevron with her own crest. “You know I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it to the end XD ahaha  
> I'm a little hyper but that's alright. I think. Tea is lovely y'all. It's really good. (Peach Tea: Sno-berry (TM) is really tasty)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm MCFUCKING tired and I want to sleep but sleep is being a little bitch so he's a chapter of Nightblade and Rodi :3  
> I think I may actually try to sleep tonight, even if it slagging kills me. 
> 
> No beta, of course. Too cool for that (or too lazy... XD)  
> Please, enjoy the shenanigans!

Rodimus’ system flared online. He was only vaguely aware of the calm field that pulsed around him, wholly aware of a gunmetal servo resting on the top of the growing bulb. Warm and comforting, and Rodimus would stay there longer if it were not for slight churn in his tanks which made him groan. He moved his arm and rubbed the hot armor, barely stifling his whine when his tanks rolled again, harsher. 

The cool servo moved across the heated metal, Rodimus knew his berthmate was awake. She pushed her nasal ridge against the back of his head, picking up immediately on the subtle change in his cybermones. The hum of her engine against his back. 

“You alright?” she whispered against Rodimus’ nape, shifting her digits in a circular pattern. Rodimus groaned, curling into himself as the roll left him queasy. At his reply, Nightblade readjusted her position, resting on an elbow and hawked over the frame. “You’re getting too hot,” she observed, already moving to her knees behind him. His plating rattled with each ventilation. Rodimus did not so much as complain that she had scooped him up, held against a comparatively cold chassis; he forcefully kept his lips tight as he was moved.

In the brief moments that Nightblade was transitioning from berth to floor, was the lucid vision he had. “Where are you taking me?” His hot cheek pressed against the cool glass pane. “Please, not medbay.” 

* * *

Cold solvent cascaded down golden spoilers and flame-colored backside. Rodimus’ servos, like his head, rested on her. His servos flexed at every sudden burst of colder solvent, gripping at Nightblade’s windshield. His whimpering had died down, as did the heat that ran through his chassis. 

Minutes after, and after a few almost-bouts-of-nausea, candy-red mech with steam wafting off less than when they began, relaxed. Rodimus was almost back in recharge on his berthmate’s slate frame. 

Roaming servos roused him slightly, but not enough to make him open his optics. Soft touches on his lower back, digits sliding across each divot and edge of his armor. One going between the flow of solvent and massaged just under his center spoiler, making him shiver and wiggle closer to her frame. Nightblade’s hum rumbled through her chassis and rattled against him, something he found oddly comforting. 

“Rodi,” hushed voice echoed with the patter of solvent around the rack. Rodimus didn’t want to answer and instead grumbled into her chest. Nightblade chuckled quietly and kept her servos moving, sliding to his hips, up and down, savoring each detail on his sides. Warmth pulsing from his frame, boiling through his field, through his ventilations. Before she allowed herself to become too distracted, she asked, “You well enough to walk?”

“Yeah, enough.” Rodimus was slow to move, enjoying the lingering sensation of black servos on his hips, or the cold pattering of solvent from the rack head. Wiggling off her thigh, there was a wobble to his stance while he still stood in the stream. 

Nightblade grunted while going from her kneel. Rodimus looked at her funnily, lapis optics tracing over her frame, also slick with solvent. The silvers on her torso glistened. But she waved off his stare and placed a servo on his shoulder. “Recharge or fuel? _We_ technically have shift in a little while.” She turned the spray off.

Rodimus groaned and headed slowly for the exit, grabbing a towel himself. “Might as well get a nap,” he groused, “I don't want to.”

She sighed and took a moment to dry herself, which actually was only a moment. (Not even with a towel, only quickly heating and cooling her frame, whom let steam waft off.) From behind, her servos slid from his shoulders down his arms. “Can’t say I blame you, but it’s still a job.”

“Ew. Please don’t start preaching responsibility.”

Servos slipped to his sides, rubbing the towel over where Rodimus had already held it. With slight huff when she took over, Nightblade then said: “I’m sure Magnus has done it enough. Or Megy.” Rodimus leaned into her, back pressing firmly against her servos as they traveled across his flaming frame. The nickname making him chuckle a bit. “Don’t let him hear you call ‘em that.”

“If he’s got a problem with it, he can fight me.” Something about the statement blew Rodimus into the next century, busting a gut. It reminded him of a meme that he had encountered once. But when he caught his breath, the deadpan stare from Nightblade made him give pause. Spoilers falling down suddenly. “Shit, you’re serious?”

She kept moving the towel, over his back, across those sunken spoilers. And said with a shrug, “A gladiator is always a gladiator. The frame changes but the mindset doesn’t, unless it's shocked out of ya.” A shiver ran through Rodimus from the pressure on his spoilers, soft but with a comfortable firmness to it. “I wasn’t such an idiot yet to be shocked of it completely.”

Rodimus wasn’t sure if that was metaphorical or physical, being shocked. It sounded too harsh to be realistic. But, the old ways of Cybertron and its society were far more volatile than he would have ever wanted to deal with. It was kind of weird to think that she had to be subject to an ages fallacy that mecha of her station were replaceable. 

He cleared his intake, a lump had formed and he didn’t notice until he tried to speak. “You don’t need to fight him, you know.”

She moved down his legs, towel warm and damp, not unlike himself. “I think if we did fight, we both would be sent to the brig. I know I tend to get a little…” her voice sunk, got small. It wasn’t quite lost but was unsure of the destination. The tap in her field against his was something that he had noted. It wasn’t quite legible. 

“I go overboard, I guess.”

Apparently the pedes were the most ticklish part of Rodimus. “Oh, hey! Hey!” He almost lost his balance if he hadn’t reached for her shoulders, or for both of hers grasping for his arm before they started to flail. Her field flared at his laughter that seemed to take over his entire frame, and it was contagious.

Rodimus wrapped his arms around her neck, cackling with her. Something about the laughter was both healing and relaxing—something that the two needed to figure out how to do. But Nightblade pressed her face against his upper chassis. Then she looked down at his adorned curve, a servo venturing toward it. Touch was something that she very much wanted to do still. And getting used to fact that he was hers and the opposite alike, it filled her with a sense of elatement that she hadn’t felt vorns. Rodimus was overfilled with feelings he had yet to really know how to express, all of them far too wonderful to squander.

The face that rested on her chassis rumbled a quiet “You’re a lovely carrier, Rodi.” It seemed a bit out of blue but it did make him blush. “A captain with courage, youth, and beauty. You’re a complete package.”

A blue flush took over his cheeks all through his stammering, at first not finding the words or making them come out. “I’m nothing special,”Rodimus finally muttered. “Not really complete either.”

“You’re pretty damn perfect to me, love.” Her servo was on his curve, a feeling that she was sure to never happen again; a feeling Rodimus was not sure would ever happen to him. It left him at ease, mind and spark.

* * *

The chattering on the bridge had seemingly quieted when Rodimus came into view. A murmur amongst the mecha at the sight of the gunmetal femme was either concern or curiosity. Most of the mecha there had at the least heard of her—history in The Pits and that. Fewer saw her fight. Megatron knew if that wasn't blatantly obvious enough. And if they didn’t know of her existence on board the Lost Light for 7 deca-cycles, that was their own obliviousness. 

Nightblade made a point of staying quiet, keeping a pedes length away while Rodimus maintained his co-captainness. Oddly enough she noted there was only one chair (that she assumed was for the captain). If this was a co-captaining enterprise, shouldn't there be two? Perhaps she was thinking too much about something trivial. 

Rodimus took notice how she stood back, how her silence brought even more attention. He knew there were mecha staring but he wasn't sure if she was the real spectacle or if he was. It could stand to reason that it was him—she probably wouldn't be the first mecha that had been picked up at a routine ship leave. 

Megatron stood quietly, taking the pads that Nightblade had carried to the bridge. (Rodimus must have forgotten those on his desk.) The mech nodded, femme then sidestepping, off again behind Rodimus.

Rodimus didn’t make any large announcement. Not that many would manage to remain oblivious to his present state of being. He did go about asking what had been done, what hadn’t, ultimately staying busy. 

It put her to a certain kind of ease, watching him go on as if nothing had changed. It was interesting. Although there would be those who would comment that this entire thing was yet another wrench in the works. And to be completely honest, it sort of was—in the literal sense.

She noticed Magnus’ approach but stood statue-like. What Nightblade had not anticipated was that he would motion for her to follow. Magnus, although an Autobot, this one she did not quite trust. He wasn’t the original, that she knew as soon as she met him. A field doesn’t lie.

But she touched Rodimus with her field before leaving, letting him know. The quick turn of his helm almost made her stay, optics confused—then, of course, he saw Magnus. Hardly could miss a mech that size. Everyone would be able to at least feel the vibration through the floor when he approached. Not like many mecha would seek him out, but Nightblade could be wrong. 

Off the bridge and out into a dimmed hallway, he stepped off to the side, back against the wall. Nightblade watched how Magnus crossed his arms and felt like his optics were scrutinizing her. _Not now, nor the place_ , she chided herself internally. Waiting then for him to explain himself. 

“Ratchet has requested you in the medibay,” quick and straight to the point. 

“He asked for me.” It was not a question, a bland matter of fact statement. She tilted her helm to the side, no longer looking at Magnus but rather in the direction of the medibay. “You sure he was not joshing you?”

“I don’t follow.” She would have explained but that would take time and energy and there was at least something that she could do in medibay. “Never mind. Thank you for informing me.”

* * *

Doors slid into the wall accompanied by a soft beep as she entered. From there she noticed only a handful of mecha in there, fewer on berths. The first mecha she noticed was turquoise and… and an extremely tall helm. _A fin?_ Nightblade wasn’t sure but strode in further. The one with the fin did not announce her knowledge of Nightblade’s existence and scheduled visit, Ratchet had informed her enough. Still unknowing of the teal mecha did not greet her—servos deep into a mech was more important than a mundane greeting. 

Off to the side was what she had come to assume was Ratchet’s personal office. Without further hesitation, she strode over and knocked. Of course, it would be rude to barge on in—she was still getting her bearings on what was tolerable. Ratchet was already a fickle mech and wanted things to be a certain way in his ‘bay. Nightblade was just letting herself be reminded of how he liked it.

A muffled “Come in,” sounded from within. The door was unlocked, she noted and pushed it open. Ratchet was seated behind a desk, one that was decorated with his name and multiple data pads. “You beckoned.” 

His optics were down, focused, dimmed with fatigue. He reply was slow to come. Only when Ratchet had finished the one pad on servo, then did he reply. “Yes. For a couple reasons. Sit.” He pointed to a set of seats. She slid over and sat on one. It wasn’t as comfortable as it looked but it made it so she sat upright—Ratchet may have chosen them for that reason, keep a person in focus, and vaguely aware that the back of what could sadly be called a cushion had a poky bit in the very center of the back. 

“What is it that you couldn’t message me yourself?”

“I’m a busy a mech and you’re not right now. I didn’t see a reason not to.” Ratchet placed down the pad neatly beside the others. “Now, brass tax. You need a secondary evaluation, that comes later. And because Magnus wanted it, you need to have something to occupy your time, other than doing Rodimus’ reading.”

“All right. The latter first. Is it really that obvious?”

“That you’ve been doing his reports? His—when he isn’t badgered—is simple and to the point. Yours, on the other hand, is _painfully_ professional, even for me,” Ratchet chuckled, slowly blinking his zaffre optics. “It was almost laughable when I first saw it.”

“So, this is to keep me from doing his work?” Nightblade asked with a crooked smile, caught but not in the slightest guilty. 

“And I doubt that if you had actual work would allow him to slack off, although you completely have.”

“I haven’t done all of them!” There wasn’t much to defend but she would reason why. “I’d read some and he’d read others. Either way, it has made things go quicker. Honestly, he just wants to nap or cuddle.”

“That’s normal. But back on topic, I know you’re experienced with spark based surgery and of course, being a GPS.” Orange digits tapped the surface of his desk. “It would serve everyone well to have a refresher or an enriching course on gestation procedure. I’d like it if you would do that for our staff.”

Nightblade sat a moment, not answering but looking around the room with only her optics moving. To consider a position within medibay would be optimal, however, knowing Ratchet, hours could be longer than anticipated. It was something she was hesitant about but it could be adjusted as time went on. “So a surgeon and an instructor?”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM TIRED YO  
> FUCK GRAMMAR  
> This shit isnt beta'ed and im cool with it
> 
> lol I hope those who read enjoy! >w<;
> 
> lmaoooooooooo

Rodimus was thankful his shift was over and not many mecha were hovering. Already he'd been asked some rather lewd questions and others that were actually expected. Asking if they could touch his belly were among the expected. It's when a few asked who he'd let spike him did it start to irk him.

It was one of the rare times that Megatron stepped in and pointed them towards their work and ushered his co-captain away. Certainly made Rodimus grateful but he didn't really want to admit he needed help in the instance.

Only after they had left and made a few paces down the hall did he finally sigh with relief and asked: “You know where Night is?” Ultra Magnus did not mention to him what he and pulled Nightblade away for, so perhaps he had told Megatron. But he wasn’t necessarily a mech to forget things, omit or forego maybe.

Megatron tilted his helm towards the flaming mech. Rodimus could have almost felt the warm optics trace over his frame. He was already used to use to optics looking him over, him carrying was just another reason for others to look. “Medbay would be my best assumption. Ratchet had mentioned that he considered bringing her in as a surgeon.”

“A surgeon?” Rodimus didn’t hide his surprise. “I didn’t really think that would be her thing.”

Megatron shrugged, walking still with Rodimus. “I wouldn’t know. She doesn’t tend to share things with me. Never has.”

Rodimus looked at him funnily. “She made it seem like you two were close.”

“As close as miners and gladiators could be, in that alone. Yes,” Megatron stated firmly. “I’m pretty sure she only trusts me as far as she can throw me.”

“How far?” Rodimus cracked, a little curious and a naughty smile. Hot air puffed from Megatron’s back, maybe irritation or perhaps amusement (possibly something else). But he did not answer.

* * *

Megatron did not tell him, not before they came to Medbay. He left Rodimus there with Velocity so he wouldn’t have the chance to ask. Besides, his line of thought had forgotten it and was more focused on something else while he was off shift.

Velocity was off to the side doing something that he didn't concern himself with but when she saw him, she waved. He did the same and asked, “Have you seen Nightblade?”

“I don't know them.”

Then Rodimus remembered that he didn't have an official addition to personnel at any point. His berthmate’s arrival hadn't made ship-wide news. Neither of them had gone to Swerve’s so even less mecha knew. Save for maybe four who knew her by name beforehand.

The stark gray of Ratchet’s office door contrasted against the off tone orange when it opened. Out popped the CMO followed by First Aid and then slowly, the silver frame emerged. The door closed behind her with clump and a flick with the lock engaging. 

Rodimus pivoted towards the three. First Aid broke off from the group and headed away to somewhere Rodimus didn't concern himself with. Ratchet stopped across from Velocity with Nightblade adjacent. Her yellow optics looked over the silver mecha.

Nightblade looked to Rodimus fondly, blinking slowly. He did not take the opportunity to introduce the femmes, Ratchet, on the other hand, did. “Velocity.” Teal attention was on him. “Have you met Nightblade?”

“Hello,” Nightblade bouted quickly. She extended her right servo, it hung in the air. “Oh, hey. Rodimus just asked about you.” Her yellow optics watched the others servo. “What are you doing?”

Rodimus saw Nightblade’s optics change, showing something along the lines of mild confusion then to realization. “Oh, an uh—an old habit. Spent time on Terra and picked up some body language.” 

“And it stuck like a disease,” Ratchet teased, receiving an elbow to his side from the silver femme. He promptly changed the subject. “But onto the _actual _subject, she’s our newest surgeon and instructor.” Something clicked in the teal femme, bright yellow optics beaming. She was practically vibrating, or so Rodimus saw from his perspective.__

“I’m going to guess you’re excited?” Rodimus said with a laugh, eyeing the femme. Her field gave off a brief pulse against his. “Yes!” Velocity paused but not on her energy. “What are you going to be doing?” She referred to Nightblade. 

“Sparks and gestation, simply put,” Nightblade said slowly, holding optical contact with her. “Ratchet will have a schedule put up later when that sort of thing will be happening,” she then explained quickly. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Velocity spoke with a smile before turning and heading off from the now group of three.

Rodimus looked at Nightblade a moment, watched her, then to Ratchet. The older mecha didn’t seem to be doing much for the split second that he didn’t make a peep. “So, are you done with her?” It didn’t sound as impatient as it did childish coming from the speedster. She reached for his servo and felt him minutely tighten his grasp.

“Almost. Don’t forget your second evaluation. I won’t hesitate to get Magnus to drag you down here.” Ratchet first pointed at her with an open palm. Then he stared at Rodimus. “And I expect to see you there as well. Your checkup is planned for the same time slot.”

* * *

Rodimus walked with a silver servo intertwined with his own, through the halls and away from Medibay, their quiet and distinct steps echoed over the droning of other systems. After walking down the halls from Medibay, halls that Nightblade had yet to fully explore, passed a sign that hung above an otherwise would have been just another hallway.

“Swerve’s?” Nightblade mouthed, although not slowing her pace. Rodimus, on the other hand, did stop. “Yeah, the bar owner’s name.”

‘It’s a bar?” A short chorus of laughter cracked through the otherwise quiet hallway. “At first glance, I thought it was another repair bay or something.”

He shrugged at the comment, not quite sure how that would be the case. Rodimus then tugged her enough to lead her inside. “It’s not. Stuff is usually pretty good though.” He patted his belly. “I could go for something.”

With an open palm, Nightblade gestured to the entrance, saying: “Lead on, captain.” A slight smirk on her derma. “Oh, shut up,” he laughed, “Come on.”

He led them both down through the entrance. Once farther in, everything had a purple hue to it. More of a pink in other areas. And not very busy. Nightblade may not have great vision, but it smelt like a bar for sure, of open engex and other fuels like it. Without hesitation, Rodimus lead them to a booth to a farther side from the entrance.

Rodimus wiggled in first, Nightblade following behind who playfully bumped thighs. He laughed and did it back to her. 

“So, what’s your favorite thing here?” Nightblade asked quietly, reaching in the middle of the table for what looked like a _Special’s Menu_. After skimming and not finding anything that caught her optic, flipped it over in her servo, it read: “ _NO GUNS. NO SWORDS. NO BRIEFCASES._ ” in a absurdly large typeface. It roused her curiosity but she didn’t ask before Rodimus spoke.

“I don’t really have a favorite per se. I couldn’t have any if I wanted to either.” Not being entirely obvious to his present condition, laughed. “Nah, something more hearty would be good.” He gingerly took the menu that Nightblade had fancied herself with. Flipping it back over. Seemed like a full minute before he found something that did suit his fancy. “Heh, that’s new. Lanthanum Flats.”

“I’m not going to even think about what that could be,” commented Nightblade.

“I am, ‘cause I’m getting it.” 

The point-blank response made her chuckle fondly, “ever the enthusiastic one.” 

“Did you figure out what you want?” He asked with a smile on his derma. He placed down the menu again, looking over the options. 

She shrugged. “I’m a good sport. Lanthanum Flats sounds interesting.” Her digits tapped the surface of the table. “My only reservation is if whoever in the kitchen knows how to actually serve Lanthanum.”

Rodimus scrunched up his face and with a quirked optic. “Don’t tell me that you dabble with even more culinary stuff!” She only cracked a crooked grin. 

“Dabble a lot in, actually.” She rested an arm on the surface, digits gingerly tapping. “Soup is certainly not the only thing I know how to cook,” apparently, she thought it was hilarious, cackling slightly louder than was usual. 

“Tell me then,” he had laughed too, “is there something you’re not practiced with? Makin’ me feel sort of underwhelming,” his voice fell to an utter.

“Pretty much anything social. This—this right now, if it were almost anyone else, I'd be silent,” she explained. Servo resting diligently on the table.

“But when we met—”

“—you were the one to approach me. I didn't want to be rude.” She was quiet but it still cut through. “I was there to get slagged but you caught me before I had much.”

“You never did tell me why you were there,” he said plainly, waving Swerve over. 

Warm air puffed from the vents around her face. “I didn’t get an answer as to why you were there either. A sleazy bar and a Prime don’t generally mix. Like hot grease and water.”

Even though it was only an example of what she meant, it still made him shudder. Something about it left a sour taste in his mouth. “Yeah, well.” He looked passed her a moment, wondering if Swerve would hurry up. He actually was hungry. “Swerve!”

The minibot weaved his way over, he made a sound that Nightblade did not quite have a meaning for. Well, not one that was translated to something useful other than “give me a second!”

Short and stacked and red rakes his digits on the surface of the table. “Hey, Rodimus. Usual?”

Rodimus shook his helm back and forth casually. “Not right now. But how about that—” looks at the menu again “—Lanthanum Flats?”

Swerve nodded. “I can do that.” He turned his helm to the gray mecha beside his captain. “Hey. Do you know what you want, uh?” He didn’t recognize the mecha immediately, certainly not a regular. Maybe just along for the ride? “What’s your name?”

“Nightblade,” quick and sure, “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Drinks?”

Rodimus shrugged and leaned back saying “Just Energon.” 

Nightblade looks over after hearing his resigned tone. “The same for me,” she said without looking at Swerve. He didn’t seem to mind it, tapping again on the table before leaving. 

Rodimus’ field felt agitated and Nightblade was not sure why. She hadn’t done anything, right? Not since the other day. Or at least she didn’t think she had done anything wrong. “Rodi, you okay?” It was barely above a whisper, just above the noise that was already present within the bar.

He had crossed his arms across his torso, protectively covering his swell. He didn’t look at her, not at first, like he was coming to terms with himself. “I’m still just getting used to things, I guess.” One of his yellow servos rubbed over the apex of the curve. “It’s still just, so new.”

Nightblade found herself tilting her helm, ogling back and forth between his face—with those lovely features—and his moving servo. Her optics made tired slits while she reached over for his. “I know it is. It’s always scary the first time,” her voice was soft, field folding around his in what she attempted to be comforting. “And you’re surrounded by friends.” 

Rodimus always looked older when he frowned. “Not all of them are my friends.”

“You only need a few good ones.” She held his servo fondly, looking him in his crystal optics. “And I’m here.”

* * *

On their way out from the then filling up bar, Rodimus slowly made his way. Nightblade literal inches away. Once all the way out and down the hall, her servo snaked around his waist. For the short walk—that had felt like miles—Rodimus rested his helm on her side, a free servo on her opposite hip.

Nightblade didn’t think anything of it until he stumbled into her side. Curiosity and a tinge of worry colored her field, staring down a pretty frame, with whose optics were barely open. She squeezed his hip with the tips of her digits to get his attention. He hummed, “what?” 

She lead him to the side of the hall. And hesitantly pulling him around from her waist. His dim optics looked at her funnily, confused that they had stopped at all.

"Here, hold this." Nightblade handed him the bag. Although with a servo on his belly and the other now on the bag, he wasn't sure what she was doing. Until she lifted him off the ground and continued walking towards their quarters. 

"Ya know,” he yawned, denta showing, “if you were gonna carry me, you coulda done it ages ago." He plopped the bag on the top of his swell as he reclined into her hold, feeling the Energon flow down to his pedes. 

"Yeah, well. I knew you were. You almost fell into recharge while we were waiting, walking," she chuckled, slowly gliding a servo up his leg to his abdomen. "I could have sworn he was flirting or was I imagining?"

Rodimus rolled his helm over her chassis, optics half-lidded. "It's just the way he is. I don't think he meant anything by it." The tender touch on his belly made him get shivers. "I'm pretty sure he was trying to butter me up to buy more food—" patting his belly "—but I don't think any more could fit even if I tried."

She mumbled something that didn’t quite break through her lips. "What?"

"Oh, um, nothing. It's fine." Nightblade kept quiet for a bit, which was sort of out of character when she was with her berthmate. And the silence started to irk Rodimus, worry him. He hadn't said anything wrong, right? Through his building nervousness, he fidgeted and squirmed which made Nightblade have to adjust with him. 

"You feeling okay?"

Rodimus froze, a small bit of relief and anxiety held him, belly lurching. "Yeah. Fine. Totally fine."

Her field flexed against his, low pulses that felt like it enveloped his whole frame. It was something that Rodimus wasn't used to but it did calm him. It was like being swaddled in a warm blanket. He wouldn't admit it aloud but it was very comforting. 

She hummed when they stopped at the door to their quarters. Nightblade angled him down so his pedes were almost to the floor, sliding down with a slightly unbalanced tink. He did not look at her, only keeping a tight grip on the doggie bad. And when the door opened, he made his way as quickly as a tired carrier could to their berthroom.

Going through the frame, then he realized he still had the doggie bag in his servo. Sighing, he bumped into Nightblade. Then he peered into those periwinkle optics, darkened with perhaps fatigue. 

“Oop! Sorry,” Nightblade whispered with surprise. She then asked in a low, calm voice, “Want me to take that?” in reference to the bag that was held tightly between his servos. 

Rodimus hesitated, didn’t speak but did loosen his grip on the white sack. He turned tail for berth as soon as she walked away. There was a discernible rumble in his tanks. _Maybe it was just the food…_ Maybe he was overreacting but the churn in his belly was leaving him dizzy.

He held his belly as he slowly made his way to berth. It felt too far, the knot in his tank felt like a cramp, oddly leaving him breathless. The steps counted as miles, even if the berth’s edge was only feet away. His pedes were heavy but Rodimus made it and sat on the edge. The cramp turned to a burn, an uneasy swirl in his tanks.

By this time, Nightblade rolled into the room. She stalled seeing his face scrunched up in discomfort and servos pressed to his sides. “Rodi?” Her voice was softer than usual, field, however, pulsed a little stronger than she would have wanted. “What’s wrong?”

Rodimus whined, massaging the sides of his soft swell. “Um, I’m—I’m not sure.” His face scrunched up further. 

Nightblade slid in close, optics pleading. “Anything I can do?” Her servos joined his and smoothed over the bowed mesh, feeling the bubbles inside pop and gurgle. 

He went from sleepy to fully awake and it was all because of a stupid belly ache. Through gritted denta, wheezed an anxious “I don’t know.” His venting quickened, shallow, “It might’ve been that food.” His optics filled with coolant against his will. “Just…” His voice trailed off, uncertain and his frame trembled minutely under Nightblade’s servos. “Don’t leave.”

“Darling, I won’t.” She looked in his optics. 

“But—” coolant slipping down his cheeks, his cheeks burning blue “—oh…” His arms wrapped around himself. Optics pleading for something that he couldn’t quite articulate. His field flaring like the flame that he is. “Just make it stop…” He sounded so hurt as his face scrunched up again.

Her helm spun to the set of drawers next to their berth. With hesitance, her servos left Rodimus and dug speedily through. There had to be something there, that’s what she hoped. She hated seeing him like this. Sated and comfortable but never like this. 

When she found something that was soft and had a long cord messily coiled up, she kept kneeling to his front. “This might help.” It plugged in just under the berth. “Here, lean back.” Nightblade helped him lay down, arms still holding his sore and rude belly. On the pack went, slightly warm already. “This should help ease the discomfort, Rodi.” She stood, wincing with the popping of her knee, she trailed her thumb across his cheeks. “I’m sorry you feel like this. I can make some tea maybe if you want?”

His cheeks were sapphire, optics a similar color. Thankfully, his grip on his belly loosened, the heat making him focus on that than the painful cramping. With one unsteady servo, Rodimus grasped the one on his cheek. “Stay.”

She couldn’t refuse him, and in her mind, she never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh  
> it's bed time for me  
> and i miss my bed  
> holy shit  
> this chapter isnt my best, so yo, sowwy >///<  
> but in fantastic news, got a job. hooah  
> so, imma gonna get me some monies lol  
> hehehe ignore me yall, i hope you have a lovely evening <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI  
> I made a few tweaks and said 'to hell with it' and here we are.  
> Updates will be slow af since univ and job lol but I'll be trying my best to maybe get back in the swing of updating.  
> .....and remembering how to write?? that shit's hard
> 
> . I hope y'all enjoy

“Your stupidity and omitting nature will never cease to amaze me,” Ratchet snapped, staring at a datapad probably chock full of systematic flaws that had been ignored. “How you still function will continue to amaze me.”

Rodimus, who sat on a berth opposite of Nightblade tilted his helm in curiosity and bewilderment. “What is it?” He asked, servo tapping on his thigh. 

“She has four different systems that shouldn’t even be _on_ and yet they are taking a majority of what’s left of her spark,” the CMO sounded and looked disappointed.  
“Oh, huh.”

“Ratch, you know I’m right here,” if she was supposed to sound annoyed, even she missed the mark. “Also, I knew that this was happening. It’s been this way since last I saw you on Terra. Nothing major has changed.” She just wanted this over with, but even her way of defending her own health, Ratchet was not having it.

“You are an idiot.” Sighing again, Ratchet continued, “you need multiple code reboots. And when that happens, I’ll fix that optic of yours.”

“What’s wrong with your optic?”

“Loose wiring causing limited sight,” Ratchet explained with his nose deep in the pad.

“More like disconnected wiring.” She shrugged. Rodimus’ optics went over her face over and over, trying to distinguish _which one_? “Loose wiring for the left and disconnected for the other.”

“ _Disconnected_... disconnected wiring! You are a fool.” Ratchet was fuming, if he got any more frustrated, he would actually burst into flames. And bursting into flames is Rodimus’ thing. 

“That has been a recurring theme, yes. Mind telling me something that I don’t already know,” spoke flatly but there was a certain edge in her field that was not irritation—all the irritation was from Ratchet’s. Rodimus, unfortunately, couldn’t see the define sides of either field. Both were meshed to a unique point that it was damn near impossible to tell.

“Nightblade.” Ratchet racked a servo down his face. “Why are you like this?”

“What are you doing?” Rodimus watched in abject confusion and horror. 

“For the love of Primus…”

“I’m already mostly blind, removing an already disconnected optic won’t do me any more harm,” the nonchalance in her voice could have been an insult. She grunted once, then small tinks filled her servo. It was the right one. “Besides, I can still see your scowl just fine.” She didn’t quite smirk but she was close.

Rodimus snorted. Ratchet, losing ground quickly, directed his scowl at him. With resignation, he threw down the datapad onto the berth beside him. His servos racked over his face, derma crumpling itself further with a groan. “If this is how you act when you have fuel and decent sleep…”

“Bold of you to assume I eat,” it was her turn to snort, and now to smirk.

“Shut. Up.” Sigh. “Rodimus, you’re next.”

* * *

“What was up with you in there?” Rodimus asked while they were halfway down the hall to the bridge. His servo in hers. “I was almost like you were high or something.”

She had to chuckle. “I’m mean to Ratch. He doesn’t like it when it’s supposed to be professional and then, ya know, you’re not acting right for the situation.” She squeezed his golden servo in a dark one.

“I was referring to your optic thing.” He looked at her for the corner of his optic, she peered down at him—even if that one was the one she had popped out of her head. “Has it been that way… since you’ve been here?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t really _see_ a point in telling you. It wouldn’t have made a difference.” She shrugged. A string of lights turned on as they moved.

“Did you seriously make a pun?” He laughed, a smile began to bloom on his derma, same upon hers. As they walked, something inside made him nervous, curious. He wasn’t sure at first whether to say it then or to wait. Since waiting never did him any good, only building a festering anxiety, he made a move. “But those times that you called me pretty or beautiful, did you mean them?”

“I don’t need optics to see that you’ve got a good spark, a good soul,” Nightblade answered quickly, honestly, earnestly. “I’ve only been graced by some of what you have to offer. Yes, of course, darling, you have beauty inside and undoubtedly on the outside.” She paused, perhaps getting her bearings again, maybe to think. “But if I needed optics to see that,” she scoffed at herself, “my, I’d truly be blind.”

Rodimus was quiet, awestruck? Even with words of affirmation given to him before, this was not something he had gotten used to. It was the honesty behind them that warmed his core, made his spark flip and pulse. His derma spread wide, shining denta taking over his face. 

They strode in comfortable silence, nodding or greeting those who passed coming from the bridge. There were not many but the shift was still early and thankfully would also be ending early. Ratchet already told him to shorten his joors just the orn. Magnus had probably already read the report long before they even made it to the bridge. He may not have been so happy about it but he did respect the Senior MO, and would fully comply. As would Megatron—even though he probably thought that getting sparked while on a mission that would end in his judgment, who was he to pass judgment onto his co-captain?

* * *

Even with a half orn, it felt good knowing it was over. Rodimus could finally just relax and not have to listen to anyone complain about something or talk snug behind his back—even if could hear it all. Getaway was always an afthat, but sometimes some of what he said felt like a punch to the gut. He knew he can’t let what him or anyone says get to him but it was draining…

 _To lay in silence would be perfect._

Nightblade met him at the edge of the bridge, her helm nodding in greeting to Megatron, whom was taking next shift. Thankfully, his pedes were tired and orn was over with. Only, it was really just a sign of things to come. 

Rodimus swayed his hips, appearing more like a dance than a walk. _Dancing would be fun_ but a nap was required before that was going to happen. He kept his pace as he reached Nightblade, who turned and kept with his steady walk down the hall. A servo snaking around his waist, resting just below high-hung spoilers.

She savored his warmth, he settled into the cool embrace. Calming for both, even if they walked in quiet self caused dazes, they made it to their room. Rodimus thumbed it open with his keycard— _they had those_. Once it was open, without prompt or really any sound, he laid down on the couch. 

The door closed with a solid thump. And Nightblade sat on the edge where his pedes were slightly elevated. “Long day or tired?” she asked, quiet. Waiting for him to respond. 

“Maybe try catching some ‘zzz’. I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

He felt warm, relaxed. If he had to wake up, he would roll over and catch a few more winks. Rodimus did move a bit then his shoulder was cold, then soft and warm again. Optics remained closed while he made a peep. Something gentle moved just behind his helm, down in the same smooth fashion. It was nice, allowing him to sigh contently.

Then something firmer than the subtle strokes on his neck came, resting on the side of his swell. It did not lack any of the tenderness, however. Slowly it kept moving, something fluffy kept moving atop his belly as well.

Rodimus barely cracked an optic open, and with the dim light, opened them fully. He was greeted by slow blinking optics aimed at his own. It was then he realized that he was swaddled in one of the fluffier blankets in his HAB (their HAB), and kept in her embrace on the couch. The only thing that had changed since when he fell into recharge was that he was on his side, and that Night was his cushion. 

Her digits moved from his neck to cup his cheek, gliding smoothly over his derma. “Recharge alright?” Inquired Night, “You seemed to get sort of restless.” There was honest curiosity and concern in her dim heather optics.

His servo mingled with hers. His seemed small by comparison. Rodimus’ chest puffed with a deep vent, dropping his helm to her chassis. He didn’t answer her question. Berry blue optics closing briefly with her servo still holding his head. “How long was I out?” 

Rodimus heard the beat of her spark under his adial, felt the flex of her chassis with her ventilation. “It’s almost midnight now, so, 6 hours. I think.”

“Didn’t recharge?” he asked with a yawn drowning the only two words he spoke. 

Nightblade grunted quietly. “Not really tired. Just been thinking.” She absentmindedly clasped their resting servos together. “Just cute things to occupy my head with.”

“Like what?” He opened his optics again, turning his head to see her face better. 

She leaned her helm down, lightly pressing a kiss to the armor behind his golden finials. “You.”

“You’re so weird,” Rodimus whispered. Even though he was blushing and he knew it, he wriggled closer to her cool frame. “Why though?”

“Why think about you?” She quietly affirmed. “What you should be asking is why wouldn’t I? You’re a very good source of inspiration.”

He rolled further into her. “Now”—yawn—“what has Drift been babbling about me for?” He made a soft chuckle. 

She stopped and hummed against his helm, antenna close to her lips, soft and warm. “I haven’t been around Drift—not too much. I saw him in passing last time and that feels like orns ago.” Her optics flickered. “Don’t most Amicae speak good of each other?”

A tiny sound at first neither was really sure or entirely awake to be truly sure that there was a word at all. Rodimus was still partially asleep and was lulling back and forth between nearly asleep and fully awake. He rebooted his voice box, a hum and a click came from his throat. “I guess so, yeah.”

They sat quietly in the dimmed room. Nightblade moved her servo, smoothing over his neck and sliding down his shoulder. The only sound in the room, in their shared bubble, was the sound of their ventilations or subtle shifts in plating. The thrum of their sparks almost beating to rhythm. It was when his helm laid fully on her chassis when he sighed contently, did she move again. 

The blanket still wrapped around him, she scooped under his legs, holding his torso still as she rose. It wasn’t so silent, her knee cracking loudly. Rodimus’ optics didn’t even flicker. Hers did with a wince, even after she wadded her way to their berth.

The door was pushed open with a covered pede, rolling through, not bothering to close it behind them. When she was close enough, Rodimus was placed atop. Then he whined, scrunching up, his legs pulled inward as did his blankets. 

Nightblade hummed in inquiry as she laid down beside him. Rodimus, even through his sleepy haze, wiggled closer, latching onto her side. “Is cold.” She hummed again, rolling over to meet his face. Her own servos taking and scooting flush to him too. 

These sort of quiet moments are what they crave and what neither would probably admit to aloud. For now, they will embrace, until they cannot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, feedback is appreciated and is welcome.


End file.
